


The Road to Recovery

by scarecrowstories



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Eating Disorders, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Past Abuse, Recovery, Self-Harm, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowstories/pseuds/scarecrowstories
Summary: Taako has issues with needing to control his environment, born out of lifelong chaos. He doesn't have healthy coping mechanisms, and it's about time he acknowledged it.





	The Road to Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Projecting? It's more likely than you think.... I've struggled with this piece for a few weeks now because it's been Really triggering my Perfectionist impulses, and I've decided it's time to just let go and post the damn thing. Hope you enjoy it if you choose to read it!

It was all about control. Everything from the carefully crafted façade he wore to the magic he studied to the work he applied it to. Transmutation magic was, after all, the refusal to accept a material as its substance so much so that the user bent it to their will into something entirely separate. A control over matter itself, from its molecular composition to its outward appearance. 

Taako always understood why he was so fascinated it, having had so little control in every other area of his life. As a child he didn't control where he lived, and as a young man he didn't control where the caravans traveled. Hell, he didn't have any control over his own life at all until the show years later, so it was no surprise he developed some unhealthy habits born out of that lifelong chaos. He told himself it was understandable, tragic even; who wouldn't walk out of a life like his with a little pain?

At first it was just basic run-of-the-mill self-destructive habits. Things like skipping a meal here or there as if to punish himself for some perceived slight, telling himself that it should teach him to behave better in the future. He was never able to meet the arbitrary standards for "better" that his mind had crafted, spiraling worse into more dangerous habits. Bruising himself with whatever was around to have a lasting reminder that he had erred from what was "acceptable" (whatever that meant), always careful to keep it concealed in case someone saw it (who would see it?). For a while, that was as bad as it got.

One particularly bad spell that stuck with him happened years before Sizzle It Up, though he didn't remember anymore where he'd been or who he'd been with (only that they'd been so important, and the hurt they'd felt at catching him was so sharp, so guilty). He was sitting on a tree stump a bit away from the group and was pounding a jagged rock against his thighs repeatedly, biting his lip to keep from making sound. The dull pain kept him grounded, distracted him from… something.

Who had stumbled across him? He just remembered dropping the rock and leaping to his feet to run after them, stumbling as his muscles screamed out in protest for what he'd done. He remembered digging his nails into the soft flesh to keep from crying as he fell to his knees on the dirt, blinking through the tears and shoving down the acrid guilt that burned his throat. A name on his lips (but whose? So important, how could he forget?), he had a recollection of being lifted from the ground with ease, of being taken somewhere safe, of laying in an honest-to-goodness bed while the shame ate him alive.

Looking back, Taako found himself thinking, Gods when did it get worse? Must've been some time before the show started, he reasoned. He couldn't remember the first time he actually cut himself, but he figured it had to be going on for a while. There were scars on his thighs that he couldn't remember the story behind, thin parallel stripes along his upper arms and slashes across his stomach to match. How young was he when they happened, he wondered, if he couldn't recall?

The first instance he remembered still disturbed him. It had been during the time of Sizzle It Up, after a particularly stressful show early on in his tour. He'd changed out of his clothes for the night at an inn, forced himself to eat half of a meal, and sat down on the edge of the bed. He stared down at his legs, at the marks already there, and found himself disgusted. 

"Misbehaved," he thought with a mocking tone, not dissimilar to the unkind relatives who'd raised him. "Had it coming, deserved worse, the least he could do, filthy burden." Before he knew it, he was pulling himself out of his thoughts and staring at thin red lines crossing all over his upper leg, around his thighs. The cuts weren't deep, the blood slowly welling up through the broken skin. He realized his pocketknife was in his left hand; when had he done that?

"Stupid cliché," he chastised himself, hastily dropping the pocketknife and reaching for his dirty clothes on the floor in a panic, pressing them to the small wounds. It had felt like habit rather than a spontaneous decision, and he could see the older scars as a foundation for what he'd just done. The combination of realizing that he'd been on autopilot and that this clearly wasn't the first time terrified him more than whatever he was trying to distract himself from, so he supposed in a roundabout way it had worked.

And then, of course, there had been the incident at Glamour Springs.

After Glamour Springs, Taako barely ate anything at all. He stopped cooking entirely, and the thought of asking others to do it for him filled him with dread. Between the fear of being recognized as a celebrity and being recognized as a murderer, he couldn't bring himself to be seen anywhere near places that sold food. There was enough money saved up from his show (and selling everything associated with it before word of the disaster could spread) that he didn't need to work for a few years, so long as he didn't mind sleeping outside instead of at inns most of the time.

The first night after it happened, when he finally stopped running long enough to rest, he couldn't bring himself to do much of anything at all. He'd directed the stagecoach into a small clearing off the path, still deep in the woods where he would hopefully avoid detection. He didn't want to risk building a fire outside, lest the smoke give away his position. Surely someone was after him by now, right? Surely a warrant for his arrest, if not outright execution, had already been printed and distributed, right? It was over.

So he sat motionless, slumped on the floor of the stagecoach with his back against the wall. For a while, that was all he did: sit and stare, mind completely blank. At some point he started to cry, though he wasn't sure when. The shock that had rendered him paralyzed was finally wearing off, giving way to memory of the tragedy playing on loop. 

How their faces went from delight to frozen in fear, to choking and spitting and vomiting until they all fell down dead. How the excited murmuring gave way to panicked whispering, and then to bloody coughing and screaming. Their eyes looking to him with desperate betrayal, searching for an answer he couldn't provide. The terror rising in his own chest as he watched forty lives cut short by his own folly.

The moment he realized what was happening, even as they reached out to him with frantic hands for mercy, he ran, already formulating his plan for selling the stagecoach and everything inside. It would fetch a tidy profit if he moved quickly enough that he could outrun word of his crime. And the next day when he sold it all off, it did, but that first night, the only thing that eased his mind enough to sleep was his habitual self-harm.

As if attacking himself would undo the damage by bringing some semblance of balance. He tore into his upper arms with his fingernails, scratching at the flesh in an attempt to ground himself in reality. He bashed his head on the wall behind where he sat as if it would dislodge the memory of the blood and bile hanging thick in the air. The only reason he stopped was because he started to vomit until he was bent over, dry-heaving as his stomach tried to expel what was no longer there. Every inch of him hurt, and it still wasn't enough. Would anything ever be enough?

The drive to make the money last as long as possible also kept him from eating much. He roamed Faerun searching for somewhere that would make his soul stop aching, knowing deep down that was impossible. He had no family, no friends, no home, and soon enough he knew he would have no money. When that last part was finally becoming a concern, he decided to look for real, honest work. He was sick of the odd jobs taken here and there to justify renting a warm room for the night in the dead of winter.

Initially, that had been the appeal of accepting what was described as the last job he would ever need to take. Finally, he had thought. And though it hadn't worked out as intended, the promise of joining the Bureau was too enticing to pass up. Even the shared living quarters with strangers couldn't dampen the relief he felt at knowing there was a consistent bed to return to, as well as food he wouldn't have to steal.

But it had been so long since he'd eaten in front of others. Something about it seemed so vulnerable after Glamour Springs. The first few weeks he turned down Merle and Magnus when they invited him to the cafeteria for meals, instead sneaking off on his own to grab a few cold bites hours after everyone else had left. After a few months, they started expressing concern.

"Hey, Taako, can I ask you a question?" Magnus asked one morning, failing to sound casual.

Taako decided to ignore the apprehension in his tone, continuing to brush his long hair as casually as he could manage. "Hit me, my man, what's up?"

Magnus started to fidget with his hands. "Well, it's just that, y'know, we've known you for a little while now, and we realized at dinner last night that neither of us has ever seen you eat. Like, at all." He paused, hesitant to complete the thought.

At that point Taako felt every muscle in his body tense. He hoped Magnus didn't notice him falter. "Okay?"

"Yeah, so Merle and I are worried. Are you okay?"

"Just peachy," Taako responded, perhaps a bit more roughly than intended. The hairbrush clacked onto the dresser. "I prefer to eat alone. Always have." He knew the answer wouldn't suffice forever, but for today it did the trick at deflecting Magnus' question. Nobody needed to know that when he could bring himself to eat he spent the rest of the day nauseous and anxious, if he managed to keep the food down at all. They didn't need to know that sometimes he even hurt himself over it, conditioned to perceive consumption as waste and hating himself for it. He's fine with what happened in Glamour Springs, he would tell someone if they asked. An accident, nothing more.

"Okay, well, do you want to start coming to dinner with us at least? Even if it's just so socialize? We like spending time with you, y'know."

He promised to think about it. He didn't intend to.

The following week he made a show of accompanying Magnus and Merle to dinner when invited, hoping it would get them off his back. They sat with Carey and Killian, and nobody remarked that he hadn't touched his food. Instead, he enjoyed himself, easily forgetting his fears. He refused to admit that they were right about the socializing being good for him, but after that night, he started to go more frequently. Once a week, then every other night, until he was consistently joining them for their evening meal.

Then one night without even realizing it, he'd eaten half the food on his plate. He spent the rest of the evening terrified the others would confront him about it; they didn't. It was still the only full meal he allowed himself in a given day, but as the weeks wore on, he felt himself loosening up at the dinner table. Some nights he even finished his plate. Other nights he'd make excuses about watching his figure in case he started his show back up after they found the final relic.

The discovery that Glamour Springs wasn't his fault did nothing to change his self-destructive habits. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if this behavior had been present in his childhood as well. He could remember being passed around to different relatives and feeling unwelcome almost everywhere. Those days his self-harm was mostly the minor self-inflicted bruises, but nothing severe that he could recall. 

Then there were the years spent on the road as a caravan chef, where he mostly cooked for other people and subsided on the taste tests he did throughout the preparation. That had to be when the cutting seriously started, since it wasn't present in his early childhood. He supposed the disordered eating had begun then as well, seemingly born out of necessity. Not wanting to be a burden like his relatives had tried to convince him he was. 

It felt like that part, at least, had stopped for a while. When? There wasn't any significant length of time between the caravans and his show.

Magnus stepping in to try and help him had felt familiar, but he couldn't remember anyone doing that before. When he tried to think of a time when someone had offered him that kind of comfort, he found only the impenetrable static that the chalice had seen. Whatever, he figured. It did nothing to solve the problem now. And the static hurt to try and sift through, so he quickly gave up.

Not that it was a problem, he would insist if confronted. He had everything completely under control, which was the whole point in the first place. He was choosing to do this. He could choose not to, if he wanted to. Who was he really hurting, anyway, besides himself? It was nobody else's business. What did they care?

He had so many arguments lined up in the event that someone questioned him, answers prepared for any questions he could think of being asked. He couldn't believe how surprised he was when it finally came up, lying in bed with Kravitz after their first time having sex.

"Hey, Taako, can I ask you something?" Kravitz asked, voice soft and cautious. His arms were wound around Taako's waist, holding him softly against his chest while they basked in the afterglow. When Taako hummed to show he was listening, Kravitz cleared his throat. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," he prefaced. "I just can't help but notice… It's… You've got a lot of scars in some pretty consistent patterns, and I've been doing this job long enough to recognize what they're from, so…" He paused, reluctant to bring the mood down but too concerned for Taako to leave it unaddressed. "Are you okay?"

Taako went rigid in his arms, panic rising in his throat. He'd been so enamored with Kravitz that he forgot to be self-conscious about his scars while they'd been making love. For the first time in so long he'd felt safe and happy and loved, and somehow Kravitz had been the one to make him feel that way. He sighed. "If you were anyone else, Bones, I'd lie. But we're kind of naked in bed together so, like, whatever, right?" He tried to laugh, but it sounded sad. "I'm okay right now, but overall? Not so much, my fella, not so much."

There was a long silence while they laid in each other's arms, still cuddling. Kravitz hugged him a little tighter, pressed kisses to the top of his head more tenderly; Taako let him. It was nice, being cared for so sweetly. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before in his momentary flings with travelers during his caravan days or fans during his tours. He was used to sexual encounters that were quick and dispassionate, where his enjoyment of the act had very little to do with it. Sure he had fun some of the time, but it was usually more about letting off some steam or giving a fan a story to tell.

"I won't ruin the moment by pushing it, but I'm here, okay? If you wanna talk, I mean."

Taako nuzzled his face against the side of Kravitz's neck. "Thanks, dude. For not freaking out and for the, like, comfort. I don't get that a lot. Okay, at all." He looked up to kiss Kravitz briefly. "I don't wanna talk about it. Not tonight. I'd rather focus on how incredible that sex was." Deflection to maintain control. Manipulation of the other party's emotions. Flash a pretty enough smile to get away with anything. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he hated feeling like his control issues were tainting this special thing he'd just experienced with Kravitz.

At that, Kravitz chuckled, blush creeping up his face as he looked away awkwardly. "It was pretty nice, wasn't it? Would you ever want to do that again?" he asked, eyes pointed firmly at the ceiling.

"Hell yeah, dude!" Taako answered. "Taako's too tired for another round tonight, but let's just see where this goes, yeah?" Spending the next hour dozing in and out, Taako was content. Normally when he slept with someone they didn't have time to stay and cuddle after, and so he'd only ever cuddled with--

With…

Actually, probably nobody, right? He squirmed in Kravitz's arms, suddenly feeling like he was losing control. There was a quiet voice in his mind growing louder, insisting that if he didn't regain control something bad would happen. He needed to do something, anything. "Hey, I'm gonna jump in the shower, you wanna come?"

Kravitz stretched his arms high over his head with a yawn. "That sounds great!"

As they made their way to the bathroom, Taako could hardly believe that he'd made that offer. He supposed it didn't matter now, since Kravitz had already seen him naked, had already acknowledged his scars. It wasn't like there was anything more he could be hiding at this point. He'd been pinned down Kravitz shamelessly moaning his name not long ago! So just like he'd said: whatever, right?

What truly, finally, at long last put things into perspective for him was the day of Story and Song. During their journey he could hurt himself without consequences, and had used it as a means to cope with the devastating stress of it all. He needed the control, even if it was only momentary, even if it made Lup hold him and cry, even if it was all he could do. 

It didn't stop when they arrived on Faerun, which was where most of his scars were from. Every time they received word of the relics' destruction, they all coped in their own ways. His just happened to be locking himself in his room and slashing at his legs repeatedly to give him something to focus on that wasn't the devastating body count they were accruing by trying to save the world.

The most painful memory was an incident where he'd fucked up, gone too far, and passed out from the shock to his system. It was his own fault anyway, he'd thought later. This time it was his relic that had caused the deaths of a thousand innocents. How could he have ever thought that his relic was beyond that? It made sense at the time, to make something that wasn't inherently about causing damage.

Oh, but the damage it could cause in the wrong hands….

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he slammed his fists repeatedly on the tops of his thighs, frustration coursing through his veins. He bit his lip hard, drawing blood. For a few minutes, it felt as though he'd worked out enough energy without having to resort to anything more extreme. He was so tired; his last meal was a scrap of bread the previous day, his last meditation the day before that. Every inch of him felt weak and heavy.

Just as he thought he might be able to calm down, he heard voices in the hallway and paused to listen. 

"--check on him?"

"I'm gonna, yeah."

Shit. Lup and Lucretia, clearly talking about him. He quickly tucked himself under the covers, grateful he hadn't done more. A soft knock on his door before Lup poked her head in.

"Hey, how you holding up?" she called. Her weary eyes were full of the kind of love and concern that made his blood run cold knowing what he planned to do. 

"Just fine. Let me sleep," Taako answered, curt. He wasn't in the mood.

She shuffled her feet and sighed. "Okay. I'm here, you know. If you need. Please, Taako, I'm just--"

"I said let me sleep, Lulu. Please. I'll bother you some other time." He felt guilty for being harsh when she was only showing she cared, but he wanted to be left alone, damn it! She took the hint and left without another word, quietly shutting the door. Taako waited a few minutes until he was sure she wouldn't be coming back before he sat back up with a start, agitation renewed with a fervor.

With trembling hands he fished the pocketknife out of the nightstand and flipped it open, staring at the blade only a moment before taking a deep breath and laying into the soft flesh of his thighs. It stung, but it cleared his head. He could forget that a thousand lives ended today because of him. He could finally stop thinking about how horrible it was to be in a position where to save the world, they had to let so many die. At last, the only thoughts in his mind were that he was paying penance, and that even though it would never be enough, it was at least something.

He gritted his teeth against the pain as he paused to breathe. What a mess. He lifted his shirt to lay a few shallow slashes across his stomach, hot rage welling behind his eyes until it spilled over in a choked sob. The knife fell to the floor as he resumed slamming his fists onto his thighs, only now he was pounding on open wounds.

At some point he knew he let out a shout, felt it tear his throat, raw and sharp. It was like his world was closing in around him, reduced to the pain he'd inflicted on himself. Part of him was grateful for such a narrow focus to keep his mind anywhere but on the relic wars, but the rest of him was in a blind panic, lashing out as hands grabbed at him. He didn't remember what happened after that.

The next time he opened his eyes he was in the ship's med bay. He tried to move, instantly snapping to full awareness and hating what his location implied. Before he could swing his legs over the bed to make his escape, Lup was by his side, throwing her arms over him and sobbing. Fuck. He started sobbing too, holding her close as his shoulders shook from the force of it.

"Lulu I'm so sorry," he cried. The next few hours were a blur of apologies and comfort, of promising he wouldn't do it again and knowing shamefully in his gut that he'd fail.

With that in mind, it was no surprise that after the day of Story and Song, Lup checked in with him the following morning. "Hey, you holding up okay?" she said as she floated through the wall of his room. When she saw him lying in bed with Kravitz, nude and covered only by a sheet, she was delighted. "Oh, shit, whoops! I'll come back later!"

Taako shot up, blushing. When they'd talked the previous night after everything had happened, he thought he'd made it clear that he was going to hook up with Kravitz! She did that on purpose! "Fucking hell, Lulu, I know you don't have a body yet but learn to knock!" he called after her, huffing as he looked down at Kravitz. "Sorry, babe, didn't mean to wake you so early. You wanna cuddle more?"

Yawning, Kravitz pulled Taako back down to him and covered his face in kisses. "Definitely. I need to get going soon, so I want to make the most of this." He tilted Taako's chin up enough to press their lips together. "How are you doing, Taako? I know Lup startled you, but I want to know, too. Are you holding up okay?"

For the first time in a long time, Taako was satisfied with the answer. "Y'know what? All things considered, yeah, I am. I've got you here, safe in bed with me, which is an absolute treat, you'd better believe it. And, like, Lup?" He snuggled closer to Kravitz's chest, wishing they could be closer still. "I know we gotta talk about the whole situation but she's here, and holy shit, Krav, I don't know how I did a whole decade without her."

"With great difficulty, from what you've told me."

"You've got that right," Taako agreed. "I know habits are hard to break, but I think I'm finally ready to try. Everything's okay now. It's been a long time coming, but yeah. I'm gonna be okay." A languid kiss, searching hands, soft gasps of want as their bodies sighed together. "Thanks, by the way. For being part of the reason I want to get better."

"Oh, Taako, you don't have to thank me," Kravitz assured, gaze tender as he looked down at the slender elf. "I love you. Of course I want you to be the healthiest possible version of yourself."

They didn't talk much after that, letting their hands wander each other's bodies while they continued making out. With amusement, Taako noted that against all better judgement, he believed Kravitz. He even wanted the same for him. Weird, being in love like this, but he could get used to it, even wanted to. He looked forward to it.

Recovery was never something he'd thought about before. He knew it would be hard, but he had to admit, it sounded nice. Maybe it was finally time to build a normal life, settle down. The world was safe, his family reunited, and his heart was finally whole again. He would've doubted recovery was ever possible before he remembered Lup, doubly so when he knew she was dead. But somehow against all odds, she was back! They were all going to be okay, and it was finally time to live the lives they'd earned!

It sounded so lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> If I missed any important tags PLEASE let me know, I think I got it all but I do NOT want to accidentally trigger/upset someone even by accident.... But hey, hmu with your thoughts on this piece!!


End file.
